


six times kise was already ahead (and the one time he lets someone else catch up)

by bluewalk



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Multi, Teikou Era, but that's just me, can be read as gen or not depending on your preference, my preference is kise/all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewalk/pseuds/bluewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kise's a jackass usually, but sometimes he gets things right</p><p>i. akashi + the perils of the captaincy<br/>ii. murasakibara + the sea at kanagawa<br/>iii. midorima + the devils in your home<br/>iv. momoi + the art of collecting your due<br/>v. kuroko + the balance<br/>vi. haizaki + the kise ryouta defense squad</p><p>& aomine + the last summer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. akashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akashi + the perils of the captaincy

ever since daiki stopped coming to practice, ryouta no longer has the prospect of elusive defeat to keep him wide-eyed and tethered to the court. now, ryouta is the first to bolt after the final whistle, in and out of the shower in a neck-breaking ten minutes, fingers flicking over his phone, finding his manager's speed dial through muscle memory as he bows his way out of the gym before the majority of first string has even had a chance to peel off their jerseys.

seijuurou notes this. he lost daiki, but he will not let the rest of his team go just yet.

he extracts ryouta's modeling schedule from satsuki, who gives it hesitantly, and extends practice just long enough that ryouta has to scramble, never allows him that extra minute to straighten his tie before leaving this life under seijuurou for another off school grounds.

seijuurou has timed it: it takes ryouta less than two minutes at a full sprint to reach teikou's front gates, where the same black car waits for him every time, its engine running, tinted windows sealed tight. ryouta bows in apology to the driver before throwing open the door to the backseat and folding himself in.

it's a strange scene to seijuurou, who is accustomed to having other people open up heaven and earth, not to mention doors, for him, until he remembers that ryouta is going to work and not being chauffeured home by a security detail hardwired to throw themselves at his feet.

that's been the usual course of events, even now in the weeks leading up to nationals, however--

this is one of those rare weeks when ryouta's manager (whose file reads: twelve years in the industry but never has he seen a boy rise so fast) takes a moment to remember that ryouta is fourteen, that there are grades and friends and growing up to fit alongside all the photoshoots and interviews, and that even kise ryouta, darling of japan, is only allowed twenty-four hours in a day.

without a black car waiting at the front gates today, ryouta is taking his time in the showers, humming the top single from last week's oricon chart. everyone else has already trooped off for home, their ties loose and cardigans tucked away for the early spring.

the water finally turns off and seijuurou remembers now: ryouta has always had impeccable, infuriating timing.

"akashicchi's not going to change?" ryouta asks upon exiting the showers. the smell of his green apple body wash permeates the room and seijuurou disapproves, distantly.

seijuurou does not deign to answer, sitting straight-backed in front of his empty locker, his sweat-damp practice uniform now cold on his skin. he keeps his back turned and listens to the rustle of ryouta getting dressed, to the incessant buzzing of ryouta's phone as the messages flood in after ryouta powers it on again.

"is akashicchi hurt?" ryouta goes on absently, and seijuurou can hear the touch tone sounds of ryouta going through his inbox. "should i get coach?"

"no. go home, ryouta," seijuurou commands, voice level.

once ryouta is gone, he can start plotting retribution in earnest. seijuurou already saw his shower supplies in the trash, thrown in along with his clipped lock; he's not stupid enough to believe the bolt cutters are still on the premises. still, it's all so juvenile; he wishes they could have exercised more creativity, given him something grander to spend his anger on. perhaps he has to monitor the television viewing preferences of the team as well, to limit their exposure to the mind-numbing drivel of broadcast teen dramas.

but mostly, seijuurou is displeased he didn't see this mutiny sooner. he owes it to nijimura-san to uphold the captaincy and the teikou name, this year and the next. steps will have to be taken. he busies himself with a mental list of potential suspects while he waits for ryouta to obey.

but a different kind of silence follows instead, and seijuurou recognizes it as the silence that falls over ryouta whenever ryouta is taking a person apart under his eyes, disassembling a body with ease and reassembling it so that it looks like ryouta himself, so that ryouta can learn to move and speak and think just like you. he feels ryouta scanning the room, feels ryouta's gaze coming to rest on his back.

and seijuurou knows this: ryouta never forgets anything he's learned, likes to show off, stockpiles his weapons carelessly and gleefully. off the court, not even seijuurou knows the full extent of ryouta's arsenal, how long he's been building it, and seijuurou does not like becoming a part of it.

seijuurou slams his locker shut, but it's too late.

"ah," ryouta says softly, a damning, knowing sound, and seijuurou's mind swerves towards contingency plans for the complete removal of one kise ryouta from teikou. the team can do without him, strictly speaking, and seijuurou would not lose no matter the setback.

(he doesn't have to think long. oha asa's reported lucky item for cancers tomorrow is a harpoon gun and shintarou is always unfailingly prepared. it would be simple.)

but ryouta's laugh, which seijuurou knows to be soft and low when ryouta's genuinely amused (disdainful), doesn't come; instead ryouta crosses the room to seijuurou, stands on his toes and stretches his hand over the top of the row of lockers, where seijuurou is not tall enough to reach. (this is how middle school boys are cruel.)

after a bit of grasping, ryouta pulls seijuurou's bag down to drop it lightly on the bench.

ryouta takes in a breath, prepares to say something; seijuurou steels his gaze, but--

"really now, akashicchi should take care not to misplace his things," ryouta sighs, ignoring the dust that settles in his freshly washed, peppermint-scented hair. "what if you misplace one of us next, on the way to a game? the team would fall apart, you know!"

seijuurou blinks down at his rescued gym bag. it's full of his clean change of clothes and polished shoes and, in an inside pocket, a shogi piece from the first game he won against father--and for a moment can think of nothing to say but, "yes, of course. i will take more care next time."

there's the slightest pause and seijuurou catches it because he is radioed in to the rhythm and flow of all he commands, but ryouta only chirps, "nah, i know akashicchi would never do such a thing. i'll be going now. thanks for your hard work today!"

ryouta's shirt is untucked and his tie is barely trying for a knot. the smile he gives seijuurou over his shoulder shows no sharpness, no teeth.

across the room, ryouta's locker stands open, plastered with his own pictures and littered with forgotten gifts from his fans, but his shampoo and body wash are sitting out on the bench, in plain sight. the message is clear.

i'm always so forgetful, he can imagine ryouta wail theatrically. i'm lucky akashicchi looks out for me.

his smile, though, would be small and indulgent, and seijuurou would not find it completely unbearable.

 

* * *

 

tomorrow's practice comes and, with the ghost of green apple lingering on his palm, it takes seijuurou all of four seconds to identify whom he has to kill.

kihara hidetoshi. third year, but newly first string. runs in the same pack as shougo, whom seijuurou has already neutralized. keeps flicking his eyes towards seijuurou then back down at his feet. laughs too loudly when he drops the ball under seijuurou's gaze. 171 cm.

he's reaching for shintarou's harpoon gun, packed under the bench while shintarou is practicing his threes, when ryouta slides himself into seijuurou's field of vision.

"kihara-senpai!" ryouta calls, slinging an arm over hidetoshi's shoulders with lazy, unearned familiarity, putting himself squarely in the line of fire. "i've been looking for you!"

ryouta makes a complicated sign behind his back, which seijuurou translates as, _are you crazy, akashicchi?!_

before seijuurou can shoot ryouta first for insubordination and for being late to practice, hidetoshi shoves him away.

"why?" hidetoshi growls, eyes narrowing. "and don't touch me."

"please don't be mean, senpai. i just wanted to tell you, i ran into hinaka-chan on my way to practice..."

seijuurou doesn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know why hidetoshi's face goes from suspicious to panicked. suzuki hinaka (her father deals in textiles; her parents had first met while marveling over song dynasty brocade in suzhou) has shared ryouta's homeroom for the last two years.

shougo's play, seijuurou notes. how interesting. and as expected, ryouta pulls it off with more grace. seijuurou lowers the harpoon and gives hidetoshi a generous 45 seconds before he breaks. then he will shoot him.

"she told me she's been wanting to check out the new karaoke place near the train station. i know senpai already had plans with hinaka-chan after school, but well--she said it was all right?"

"oi, kise," hidetoshi starts. he sounds strangled and seijuurou is curious to see whether he means to protest or beg, would enjoy either option, truthfully, but ryouta interrupts with a snap of his fingers.

"ah, senpai can come too!" ryouta's smile lights up, white and merciless. "wouldn't it be fun? senpai, me and hinaka-chan."

"i don't need your _permission_ \--" but hidetoshi must recognize the futility now. who would choose him when they could have ryouta. seijuurou's mouth curves.

everyone is pretending not to stare and hidetoshi looks like he's about to throw a punch, red-faced at the audacity of ryouta, of seijuurou, his underclassmen. but the truth is, seijuurou could tell him, they have always been above him, unreachable. ryouta's expression is eager, eyes bright with what seijuurou appreciates is malice.

hidetoshi is the first to look away.

"oh, how regretful," satsuki sighs as she takes a seat next to seijuurou, diligently noting this new development on her clipboard (daiki must be coming to practice today too). "it took kihara-senpai weeks to work up the courage to ask hina-chan out. he's had a crush on her forever, did you know?"

seijuurou did know, because he knows everything, although he will have to make another upward adjustment to his evaluation of ryouta's perceptiveness. but seijuurou decides this is fitting; there is no need to get his own hands dirty when people are already so easy for ryouta, who, for the time being, is still loyal enough.

"you don't sound very upset for him," seijuurou allows. he chooses to keep the approval out of his tone.

satsuki laughs. "well. he was smart to back down. you just can't compete against ki-chan in these matters. though ki-chan must have been really angry about something, huh? i wonder what."

"hey, akashicchi!" ryouta scolds from the three-point line, fists on his hips and the ball secure in the crook of his elbow. the vestiges of a grin can still be read on his face. "as captain, please try not to harpoon anyone so close to nationals! we'd get disqualified!"

"of course not," seijuurou says, replacing the harpoon gun under shintarou's watchful eye across the court. "what do you take me for."

"how reliable," satsuki hums quietly, writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: murasakibara
> 
> my weakness for shounen sports manga rears its many heads again
> 
> is there a support group for us or something. one where we all sit in a circle and weep a lot and exacerbate things by writing more fic and weeping some more
> 
> i mean there's gotta be


	2. murasakibara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> murasakibara + the sea at kanagawa

"don't want to," atsushi says. "sounds like way too much work."

"don't be cruel," kise whines, sitting backwards in his chair to drum his heels on either side of atsushi's desk. "one of the publicists at the agency told me the best place in tokyo to get dolsat bimbimbap. i'll treat you."

atsushi considers this as he kicks kise's chair to get him to be still, but ultimately decides, "i'm hungry now."

kise dives into his bag to pull out a melon pan. atsushi had seen a girl from the next class over give it to kise at the beginning of homeroom and he had almost worked up enough energy to be jealous.

kise thrusts the melonpan towards him with both hands. "please accept this for the time being, murasakicchi!"

atsushi takes the offering, the plastic wrapper crinkling pleasantly as he unwraps it. "kise-chin is so good at bribery. is this what it means to be a celebrity?"

"hey now," kise cries, tears already rallying in the corners of his eyes. it's a world class skill. "that's slander!"

"is it?" atsushi says, unconcerned and unimpressed. he thinks about shrugging but is too lazy to follow through. "will there be more snacks later?"

"if by some miracle you help me pass the next history exam, i'll make sure to bury you in maiubo!"

this, at least, pings his interest and merits more thought. "i don't like the natto ones," atsushi says around a mouthful of melon pan.

"no natto or else my life is forfeit," kise promises, clapping his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut. "just please help me, murasakicchi! you're my last hope!"

atsushi slumps forward over his desk as the bell rings, signaling the end of their break period. outside in the courtyard the groundskeeper is engaged again in the endless task of sweeping up dust and dead leaves. hadn't they read something like this once in literature class, about a king somewhere far, far away. maybe akashi would know. no point in asking kise.

kise cracks open an eye to watch him and atsushi is close enough to count kise's stupidly long eyelashes in the slanting rays of the autumn sun. atsushi blows the hair out of his face.

"i like the chocolate ones best."

before atsushi can blink, kise has his phone out and is typing away with a ferocity he usually reserves for dunks and layups. kise's phone is always the newest model, this one white and sleek and unadorned. atsushi vaguely remembers kise lamenting that he has to forgo phone charms, as a rule, because he can't upset all the girls whose charms he wouldn't be able to attach. aomine had shoved kise squawking into the bushes after he said this and atsushi had solemnly agreed kise deserved the twigs in his hair and the grass stains on his uniform.

"i won't forget your kindness!" kise declares earnestly and shoves his phone into atsushi's face to show him the reminder he set. atsushi waits for his eyes to refocus and uncross before he can read it: "choco maiubo for murasakibara atsushicchi-sama, ryouta-kun's forever hero!!!!!" followed by a long string of stars and reverent emoticons.

atsushi frowns at the gross misuse of suffixes, but mostly at the use of katakana for his name. "kise-chin doesn't remember my kanji?"

kise dismisses the comment with an airy wave and atsushi can almost see the sparkles following the arc of his hand.

"let's focus on history, not japanese language. let's see, tomorrow i have that shoot for  _zunon_  until late." kise rubs at his neck in frustration as he scrolls through his brightly color-coded calendar with measured flicks of his thumb. "ah, but next thursday after club will be good. i'll tell my manager to black out my schedule. is it ok for murasakicchi?"

"thursday is fine," atsushi concedes reluctantly, crumpling the empty melon pan wrapper in his hand. he comforts himself with the promise of bimbimbap and enough snacks to swim in. atsushi is pretty big and it'll take more than all the maiubo at the local konbini to bury him, but he supposes kise can afford it, what with his stupid face shining down on the masses from those fancy electronic billboards in shibuya.

"i'll mail my manager right now!" kise leans his elbows on atsushi's desk, crowding into atsushi's space, hellbent on tapping out what looks like a novella on the tiny screen of his phone. if atsushi leans forward a little more, he could tuck kise's head under his chin.

"kise-chin really likes to study, huh."

"who does?!" says kise incredulously, not bothering to look up from composing his missive. "but you can't always do as you like, right?"

atsushi frowns. that's what his parents and siblings say, every time he's too lazy to pick up his socks or brush his teeth or acknowledge that the future is going to happen whether he likes it or not. you can't always do as you like. you have to start applying yourself. you're not a kid anymore. we won't always be around to take care of you, atsushi.

and now kise is saying such things too, even though the two of them have synchronized whining down to an art, have successfully puppy-eyed and sniffled their way out of the majority of class assignments throughout the years together (sensei, don't you think kise-chin is too thin, you know he's become really popular lately, do you think he's coping well with all the stress that comes of being a teen idol, or-- sensei sensei, i'm worried about murasakicchi, anyone who eats that much must be trying to fill a void within himself, that's not healthy, right, what should we do, sensei, and--)

he remembers the last practice he bothered to show up to because he was bored. kise wasn't there, not because of a shoot, but because he had to go to kanagawa, to that school that called itself the ocean.

kise sighs heavily and atsushi drops his head onto his desk. it's a weird angle, looking up at kise instead of down. is this what all the girls see when they flock around kise or when they call him into an empty stairwell, hearts in their mouths? kise calls them "appointments" and is the only boy in school who needs a whole separate calendar for them.

but right now, atsushi feels instead like they are on a long, quiet train ride, the sun slicing in through the windows and kise sitting in the seats across, bent over his phone while his shadow reaches away from atsushi, towards the sea outside, unfurling alongside the tracks. atsushi thinks kise's mouth looks very pink and a little remorseful when he flicks his gaze away for a second to give atsushi a chagrined smile, and his lashes dark and heavy.

if atsushi turns away, he'll be back in school, with everyone shuffling back into their seats, chairs and desks scraping against the floor, and he doesn't want that. it's comfortable and warm and peaceful in the train car with just the two of them and the sun. he watches kise mutter under his breath as he types, catching the flashes of even, white teeth, but the sunlight glints sudden and sharp off kise's earring, newly pierced over the summer, which now seems decades past, many, many stations ago, and atsushi goes cold.

kise scrolls back up and checks over his mail over for errors; atsushi catches two right away, but doesn't say anything, out of spite.

"ne, kise-chin." his voice seems to travel a great, multiplying distance before it reaches kise sitting less than arm-length away, and a familiar annoyance, a tightness, seizes him. "aren't you being too cool right now?"

atsushi is jolted back to their bustling classroom as kise flashes him a grin that harnesses all the megawatts in tokyo.

"does murasakicchi really think so?! hey, say that again!"

atsushi closes his eyes and lazily bats away the inexplicable sparkles, resolutely denies the gentle spring breeze that seems to follow kise around everywhere no matter the season or locale. "kise-chin should go die," he grumbles.

"so mean, murasakicchi," kise says, laughing. he pats atsushi on the head before turning back to face the front of the classroom, where sensei has just started to call roll.

blonds, atsushi thinks, chucking the melon pan wrapper at kise's head. he glares at kise's back with a caustic ire that would probably be revealed as a screen for something else, if he could be bothered to self-reflect.

kise doesn't turn around; sensei is watching.

two weeks later, when kise flags him down at the school gates brandishing his latest history exam, atsushi feels actual, physical pain at the mark circled in red ink, barely passing for all of atsushi's efforts and sacrificed freedom, but kise is beaming at him, the sleeves of his school cardigan falling over his hands because it's new and hasn't shrunk in the wash yet, after his other one was mauled by the cat in atsushi's home, and atsushi finds it in himself to say, "oh, i'm so proud, kise-chin."

"let's get you that maiubo. i'm free today too." kise grins up at him and half of japan must have blacked out right now, to supply the electricity behind kise's teeth.

it's just the two of them today; atsushi won't have to share.

but as he lumbers after kise, he can already see the ocean printed on kise's back and kise's voice is already dissolving under the white rush of waves as kise is pulled out and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made myself sad
> 
> next: midorima + his hellspawn of a little sister


	3. midorima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> midorima + the devils in your home

"wah, midorimacchi! what happened to your face?"

shintarou valiantly swallows the urge to scream, clutches kerosuke closer for strength.

ever since kise blazed his way onto the teikou basketball scene and, subsequently, shintarou's meticulously ordered life, shintarou seems to be getting into the unlucky habit of questioning god's ineffable dispositions for him. for instance, why does it have to be kise of all people he runs into at the department store, and why does it have to be today of all days, when shintarou is sporting a fresh black eye and cancer's ranking is rock bottom?

he scowls forbiddingly in kise's general direction. one must be ever vigilant not to give kise any openings and to show no vulnerability. oha asa did warn him of near insurmountable hardships today, and had advised great emotional fortitude. which is why kerosuke is with him, in addition to the lucky item of the day in his breast pocket-- limited edition plastic hello kitty sunglasses, offering no real UV protection but procured only after many grueling hours in a seedy pachinko parlor.

they're also his sister's favorites and she does not part with them easily. which explains the black eye. she is barely half shintarou's height, but that has never impaired her ability to inflict grievous bodily harm upon his person.

"so scary," kise laughs as shintarou's scowl deepens. kise lifts his own sunglasses and leans in to peer at shintarou more closely. "you look just like an oni. careful, your face is going to get stuck that way. who'd you piss off?"

gemini's horoscope, on the other hand, had promised literal sunshine and puppies.

"it doesn't concern you," shintarou says primly, repressing flashbacks of catastrophic, tiny-fisted rage. "why are you here?"

"my shoot wrapped up earlier than i expected, so i have some time to wander around!"

"is that wise?" shintarou asks, eying the weekend crowds, then realizes he doesn't care. let kise be mobbed by his fans for being so cavalier and so stupid and so... blond. "go die."

"midorimacchi." kise heaves a long-suffering sigh, as if  _shintarou_ is the one being ridiculous. but then kise pulls up his hood and turns all his blindingly white teeth on him. "let's eat together!"

"no," shintarou says. "absolutely not. leave."

kise's about to latch himself onto his arm, shintarou knows, because they've gone through this enough times that one doesn't need to be akashi to predict every play in the book, but kise is stopped abruptly in his tracks by 117 cm of green-eyed, pig-tailed hellspawn.

"oh, hello--" kise pauses, and shintarou has never felt such surging fear in all his fifteen years of life. "oh my gosh, are you--"

"i am midorima saki." saki bows to kise, at an angle that is textbook and perfect, and shintarou can feel his world shuddering apart. "niichan was just waiting for me while i washed my hands in the restroom. are you his friend from basketball club?"

kise's resulting grin invokes the shape of an ancient rune that means, succinctly, "your life is now fire and carnage" in a long-forgotten occult language that shintarou has started studying in his free time in preparation for moments just like this. because being able to recognize warning signs is elementary. and because shintarou had always suspected something sinister of his sister, though his parents always laughed it off.

and now, everything in his life related to kise ryouta makes so much horrible, horrible sense.

"yes! i'm so happy to meet you, saki-chan!" kise kneels so he's eye-level with her (the better to link satanic energies, shintarou observes). "i'm ryouta. are you out shopping with your niichan today?"

saki nods solemnly. "niichan promised to buy me new hairclips for stealing my sunglasses this morning. i was very upset with him."

"ah, so mean! why'd he do that?"

"because oha asa said so," she intones ruefully. "how will niichan ever survive in the real world if he keeps clinging onto those lucky items? it's pitiful."

"i see." kise makes a choking sound, presumably on the unholy evil bubbling up inside him, and takes a moment to compose himself to keep from disintegrating into a swarm of locusts. "so, is saki-chan the one who gave midorimacchi that black eye?"

"i was very upset," saki says again.

"i hope you  _burn_ ," shintarou tells kise, who has practically collapsed in convulsions. people are starting to stare even more than they usually do when kise is around. "let's go, saki."

"no, wait, please," kise wheezes, reaching out. "sakicchi--"

"why are you calling her 'sakicchi'?!" shintarou screeches-- manfully.

"no, i want niichan's friend to come," saki says, holding onto the hem of shintarou's shirt to keep him from walking away. "because niichan is not stylish at all. actually, i would be embarrassed if it were just niichan."

kise doubles over, a hand pressed over his mouth to keep his demonic soul from escaping his corporeal body.

"he's useless," shintarou grounds out. "look at him."

he gestures vehemently at kise, who looks-- well, impeccable despite his barely constrained hysterics and what is surely hellfire churning behind his eyes.  _artfully disheveled_  might be the words. but he is still evil incarnate, shintarou is convinced, and saki needs no further corrupting influences in her life.

but saki raises a single eyebrow, very slowly, imperiously, and shintarou has to remind himself that sororicide is frowned upon in polite society.

"come, kise," he snaps. "let's get this over with."

kise stops laughing just long enough to gasp, "yes, midorimacchi!'

 

* * *

 

"ah, how can i put this gently-- has midorimacchi not realized that sakicchi has green hair? the same green as midorimacchi's hair?"

"i don't understand what that has to do with anything," shintarou seethes. the saleswoman quickly rescues the purple butterfly hairclip from his grip before he can crush it.

"purple clashes awfully with green, midorimacchi," kise explains, giving him a look so full of pity that shintarou feels it backhand him in the face.

"niichan has no style," saki says, ruthlessly stabbing again at his ego from her newfound height in kise's arms. the distance between her fist and his good eye is frighteningly short.

"he really doesn't, huh? sakicchi sure has it tough," kise says. "here, how about this one?"

"you  _like_ butterflies," shintarou croaks, but he's weak and is ignored by everyone present as kise slips a white lily headband onto saki's head.

saki inspects her reflection in the mirror as the saleswoman coos her approval and shintarou almost puts his head through a glass case of imported perfume.

"it is acceptable," saki says at length. "ryouta-kun has been very helpful."

"you're so much cuter than midorimacchi," kise beams. "midorimacchi will buy that one, and this one will be from me!"

the headband is deftly replaced by a yellow duckling hairclip and shintarou knows his sister well enough to pinpoint the exact moment the block of ice she calls her heart begins to melt. the duckling is even wearing rain boots. carrying an umbrella! absurd! his grip on kerosuke tightens formidably.

"i have decided," saki says slowly, placing a proprietary hand on kise's head. "i shall adopt ryouta-kun as my little brother."

kise glows. shintarou's glasses crack, just a little.

 

* * *

 

"this is all your fault! is midorimacchi an idiot?!"

"shut up! you're the last person i want to hear that from!"

"sakicchi is just a kid! how could you say that to her?"

"i was talking to _you_!  _en antiquus inimicus et homicida vehementer erectus est, transfiguratus in angelum lucis--_ "

"stop it! japanese, speak japanese!"

"go die!"

"don't you understand that saying things like that is what got you into this mess in the first place!"

the guard at the security desk makes another feeble attempt to placate them--something about disturbing the peace and blowing out the hearing aids of all the elderly in the vicinity--but seems to have resigned himself to the fact that he holds no power over them when both shintarou and kise are an entire head taller than him.

they've already waited half an hour after announcing the lost child alert over the loud speakers but there are too many places in a department store for a small child to hide if she doesn't want to be found by her--and shintarou quotes--"delusional, horoscope-obsessed, absolute brute of an older brother" whom she can apparently never "take anywhere" for fear of him "dishonoring the family name" with his "antics."

the thing with small children is that they are also exceedingly easy to lose in a crowd when you are crippled from the pain of a direct hit to your solar plexus.

"i'm going to look around some more. midorimacchi should check the second floor again!"

but an hour more of frantic running (and donning the hello kitty sunglasses at random intervals, in the misguided hope that they would somehow illuminate saki's position) yields no sign of saki and shintarou slumps into a bench by the fountain, scaring away the little boy playing the latest pocket monsters on his 3ds. perhaps he could offer up a sacrifice to oha asa for additional guidance, or as a plea to god? after all, man proposes, and man must do all he can. it's getting late.

perhaps that small dog over there, or that sleeping child in the nearby stroller...

no, he's too young and too promising to risk a criminal record now.

he stares intently into kerosuke's cold, dead eyes and grits his teeth.

god. it's me. we're on good terms, professionally speaking, yes? i propose and you dispose? so i propose that you let me find saki. she's my sister and i-- don't hate her. i did steal her sunglasses this morning. well, i was going to give them back. and i was the one who won them to begin with, so technically they're mine. i could say they've been on loan to her all this time. she shouldn't have gotten so angry. she gave me a black eye, did you see that? kise laughed. i was laughed at by  _kise_. i don't understand why you thought it was fitting to drop kise into my life, when i've never been anything but cooperative and--

he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

saki's just a child. and i need to find her now. please.

"ahem! sorry for the disturbance!"

shintarou almost drops kerosuke as he lurches to his feet. the voice was loud and booming, coming from above and all around. omnipresent.

"god?" shintarou ventures.

"your attention please! this is a lost child alert for a midorima shintarou-chan! green hair, glasses,174 cm tall! last seen running around clutching a stupid frog toy! if found, please bring him to the security desk on the first floor! shintarou-chan, your adorable brother and sister are waiting for you!"

how kise charmed his way into using the broadcasting system himself is beyond shintarou's current grasp on reality, but kise will be kise.

and shintarou has never run so fast in all his years of playing basketball, as every pair of eyes around the fountain drills into the back of his skull.

saki is returned to him, sporting kise's sunglasses, which she has to keep pushing up her small nose. she was crying in the restroom, kise explains. he had asked a girl to go in and check for him. saki is still sniffling occasionally while kise lectures shintarou on what it means to be a good niichan, which most definitely does not entail being such a weirdo and could definitely do more with some style lessons.

"now, apologize to sakicchi!"

"sorry," shintarou mumbles.

"and tell her she's cute."

"is that how your sisters got you to stop crying when you were young?"

kise nods enthusiastically in a way that implies his sisters might actually still employ such tactics on a near daily basis.

no wonder you're so messed up, shintarou thinks.

"saki," shintarou soldiers on. "that hairclip. it really suits you, of course."

"we went back to the shop and ryouta-kun got it for me," she says, looking up at him finally. "because niichan can't do anything right."

he's too exhausted to get angry, and he probably deserved that one anyway. he holds out his hand and she lets go of kise's to take his immediately.

on the train ride home, she falls asleep in shintarou's lap after demanding that he forfeit the hello kitty sunglasses to kise as payment. kise wears them on the back of his head, over his hood, and pulls it off so infuriatingly well he probably sparked a whole new trend in roppongi.

kise talks quietly to shintarou the whole ride, about his shoot today (an campaign for a new spring collection that involved, as predicted, puppies), that one time he ran away from home for an afternoon because his sisters wanted to paint his nails, yesterday when aomine crashed into kise because he was ogling some girl's chest and sent them both tumbling down a flight of stairs (how are you not dead or at least severely incapacitated, shintarou wants to ask, but refrains), that high school in kanagawa that had scouted him, what his mom made for dinner today, how hungry he is.

"don't you ever run out of things to talk about," shintarou says, admittedly without much heat. he checks to make sure saki is still asleep. her breathing is even and slow and she's hugging kerosuke. kise's sunglasses are askew on her face.

"i can stop," kise says, shrugging.

the girls at the end of the train car giggle over their phones and shintarou wonders how many candid shots of kise will end up on the internet today. all the online auction sites will be swamped with teenagers trying to get their hands on those hello kitty sunglasses and kise will probably receive an influx of hello kitty-themed treats at school on monday.

shintarou sighs. "thanks for today. and stuff. you know."

kise elbows him, gently to keep from disturbing saki. "midorimacchi is so funny," he says. "you know what sakicchi told me before you came back?"

"what," shintarou obliges, even though he should probably know better. evil incarnate and all; he hasn't forgotten and he knows a guy who knows a guy who can get him some bona fide holy water.

"that her niichan can be stupid and difficult, but he's a good person really. and that it's sad he doesn't have too many friends."

shintarou swallows hard.

"i'm going to mail midorimacchi more often from now on. even after graduation!"

"die," shintarou says, turning away to watch the lights of the city blinking on instead.

there's a simple explanation for why every point of light seems to blur and scatter and bleed into the next. his eyes are tired, that's all. he's tired. saki always wears him out. kise, too. they both pay too much attention to the wrong things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the character bible, almost everyone said that they got along least with midorima and that made me 1) laugh, and 2) weep a little (you can find a [translation here](http://yefione.tumblr.com/post/26979095187/kiseki-no-himitsu)!)
> 
> midorima's outburst of latin is excerpted from "prayer to saint michael" written by pope leo xiii (or so the story goes). it was used in exorcism rituals BUT the important thing to take away here is that midorima basically admitted that kise takes on the form of an angel of light ( _transfiguratus in angelum lucis_ ). yeah you can quote me on that. HIGH FIVES ALL AROUND.


	4. momoi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> momoi + the art of collecting your due

"i absolutely refuse."

"just one more! i promise this batch is better."

his eyes dart to the hallway but she outmaneuvers him with ease, hooks a slippered foot behind his knee and topples him back into the chair. she pinches his nose until the color creeps up into his cheeks and takes the opportunity to measure lung capacity and the exact mm of how wide his eyes can go.

he gasps for air after 178 seconds of intense, white-lipped emoting and although she's impressed, she doesn't forget to shove another heaping spoonful into his mouth, scraping over the top of his teeth.

"well, how is it?" she asks as she watches his jaw work. wonders absently when puberty started giving free passes to teenaged boys.

"it's so  _awful_!" he sobs.

the tears come on full strength and she is momentarily distracted by a world of unexplored, untapped potential blossoming before her. how did she miss this? she makes a mental note to bring it up to murasakibara, who is responsible for snapping kise candids for the next and last photobook they will hock to his fans. luckily, murasakibara has a mean streak as wide as his shoulders and with this new discovery, sales will skyrocket even higher. there's a whole new market to be exploited.

excellent. the club coffers for "discretionary spending" could always use more lining and if squeezing a few tears from their resident teen idol is the way to do it-- well, that’s always been easy enough.

she reins her thoughts back in just in time to hear kise wail, "what's with this texture?! how is this possible! momoicchi is going to poison me!"

with a huff of frustration and more force than strictly necessary, she tosses the pot of cooling chocolate into the sink to join the half dozen previously failed attempts. the contents of the newest pot slosh onto the counter, where it releases a  _gloop gloop_  noise and appears to be taking on sentience before their very eyes.

after a brief, horrified pause, kise says, "i'm going to die."

"oh, stop being such a baby," she yells after him as he bolts down the hall.

she follows to keep him from making too big a mess in her bathroom and while holding back his hair for him, she calculates how much the tabloids would shell out for pictures of up-and-coming model kise ryou retching his guts out into a toilet bowl. she could buy her parents a new house and still have money left over to invest in her informational networks, if whatever publication she sells to first wants to buy exclusive rights to coverage. even all the revenue from steadily rising sales of unofficial kise photobooks in the corners of the school courtyard and rarely used stairwells would be chump change compared to what she could reel in with but a mere whisper of scandal to the media.

they could name a new gym at teikou after her. made possible by a generous endowment from momoi satsuki, long-suffering yet ever-magnanimous entrepreneur.

it's tempting, especially after how mean kise was, but she decides, a little sadly, that she's not that kind of girl.

she sighs. "so ki-chan knows a place?"

 

* * *

 

she locks the front door and turns around. she blinks.

kise is radiating a bright, sunny cheer that diffuses endlessly into the february cold, like he wasn't just incapacitated on her bathroom floor and sobbing about stomach cramps and designs on his young life just eleven minutes ago.

“i know just where to go,” kise declares, “to find the best chocolates in japan. they have vanilla truffles. kurokocchi will love them!”

“they’re not--“ she tries to deny, but she’s so flustered she almost drops her house keys.

“they’re not just for tetsu-kun,” she finally counters when they are waiting to cross the street, after she spent the entire train ride downtown in mortified silence. “i’m going to give chocolates to everyone on the team!”

kise pushes his baseball cap up with a finger and smiles at her and she resists the urge to shove him into oncoming traffic to save herself from the embarrassment.

“was aominecchi busy today?” kise asks.

the light blinks and changes before her mind manages to turn. she stuffs her hands into her pockets and shuffles along with the rest of the crowd, hunched into their scarves under the early dusk. kise's back disappears, swallowed by the close crush of people, until she can see only his head above a black sea.

kise isn't used to accommodating her shorter strides like daiki is, and has to turn around to look for her when he reaches the opposite street and finds he left her behind.

“it’s hard to get him to do things these days,” she says, stepping onto the curb next to a waiting kise. there isn't any reason to lie, and kise would see right through it anyway. “he said he’d rather sleep. i’m sorry i had to drag you out with me instead.”

“don’t be sorry,” kise says. he stops to bow an apology to a salaryman whose shoulder he bumped, and who glances wide-eyed between the advertisement on the nearest bus shelter and kise’s half-hidden face. it’s a pocari ad; kise's been doing a lot of those since teikou was featured in  _monthly basket_. kise looks good in it.

“i like spending time with momoicchi!” kise continues, picking up his pace once more. “without the cooking next time, though. please.”

she lets that one slide, because kise hooks their elbows together (“so i don’t lose momoicchi again!”) and it makes her feel warm.

without sufficient data, she can't say if the chocolates from the chocolatier kise takes her to actually are the best in japan, but they’re certainly the best she’s ever tasted, good enough to justify their criminally high prices. she chooses the signature dark for akashi, caramel filling for murasakibara, azuki filling for midorima, chocolate dipped rum cherries for daiki, an assortment for kise because like a child he can’t decide what he wants. and the vanilla truffles for tetsu.

she has the boxes neatly wrapped in their respective colors, tied off with a pink ribbon, and kise smiles at the cashier, who subsequently forgets to ring her up for a fifth of her purchase.

later over matcha lattes at the adjacent cafe, kise says thoughtfully, “i don't say this enough, but momoicchi is really amazing.”

she can tell he's been musing on this since their exchange at the curb, but she rolls her eyes. “says mister booked-his-first-national-campaign-at-age-fifteen.”

kise shrugs and swirls his spoon, obliterating the foam heart the barista poured onto the surface of his latte.

there might have been a time when this would have annoyed her, the way kise finds success so mundane, like it's milk to be swirled into his coffee, but then again probably not, because one of her earliest memories is of the thump of a basketball from the other side of her bedroom wall, and in all the years that followed, she too has never learned to expect anything but victory at the side of a boy who was born with it around his neck.

“i mean it,” kise says. “what does momoicchi want?”

“i want one of ki-chan’s buttons at graduation. so save one for me, ok?"

“you’re just going to auction it off to the highest bidder anyway.” kise points his spoon at her accusingly, speckling the table with drops of creamy green. he sticks the spoon in his mouth and says around it, “i mean, what do you want to do?”

"don't worry about me."

kise pouts but kise doesn't say, "you don't have to go to touou," because they both know, of course she doesn't have to.

she could start again, humble, with a team that is still young and undecorated, and see seirin and tetsu to newfound glory (tetsu thinks they don't know yet, but he can't fly under her radar anymore, now that she knows what to look for). she could go with akashi to rakuzan and, with his connections, gather enough dirt on all the politicians in japan to build herself an entire shadow empire by the time she graduates high school. she could go to kaijou with kise and every morning at the school gates be reminded that she lives surrounded by water, that even a hundred victories heaped together can be dispersed in a matter of heartbeats by the swell of the ocean at her doorstep.

she could leave basketball behind altogether. she could find something else that invokes in her such fierce joy and eddying despair, something that wasn't dropped into her hands by the boy who lived next door, and she could embrace it alone, and excel alone, and rise alone, not tethered to anyone else's smile or the loss of it, reliant on only herself to breathe in the atmosphere.

but she will go to touou, and it's not because "i have to" and it's not because "i want to," but because even though she has never had siblings to share blood with, she still cannot imagine having to grow alone and apart.

what kise does say, honest to his core, is: "we don't deserve you, momoicchi."

her heart holds itself and then pounds once, hard, in sudden unease, but kise smiles again and the waitress two tables over narrowly avoids spilling hot coffee on a customer's lap. kise pulls her close and snaps a picture of the two of them on his phone, cajoling her into splitting her fingers into a v. he pays for their drinks, hooks their elbows together again on the way back to the train, walks her home from the station, hugs her see-you-later.

that night her phone vibrates next to her pillow. the picture from earlier is captioned with, “next time we’ll go shopping for momoicchi!”

the following week, on the fourteenth, she hands kise his little yellow box with the pink ribbon and he says she is the absolute best before shoving her into tetsu’s homeroom and holding the door shut so she can’t escape. (tetsu is gracious. tetsu does not laugh at her and to thank him, she does not ask him about basketball or seirin, or for forgiveness.)

and next month, early on the day of graduation, kise gives her one of the buttons from his uniform shirt, says, “here! before everyone else gets to me.”

“thank you,” she says.

she closes her fingers around it and goes to fetch daiki from the rooftop.

this spring she will be trading her teikou whites for touou black and from here on out her weekends will be spent gathering intel and bleeding every practice tape she can lift because just maybe she can finally find that one boy who is not achilles but truly invincible, whom daiki can't raze simply because he plays close to the ground, like the victories slung around his neck are too heavy to bear, and what daiki needs is someone who will pull his spine straight and raise his head and demand his eyes and that someone cannot be something so weak and so breakable as a hero.

"you don't deserve me, you know," she whispers, standing over daiki lying on his back, the flat of his soles against the point of her toes. right now, her shadow stretches longer than he does. more and more often she is looking down at him instead of up.

she curls her hands into fists, kise's button indenting the flesh of her palm, and she thinks of kise's interview in last week's  _zunon_.

"don't tie me down," she says. demands it in the face of new spring now that winter has turned its back. "i won't wait for you forever. i refuse."

daiki's eyes open against the sun.

"let's go, dai-chan." she uncurls her hand, reaches out. "the ceremony's about to start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very soon i will be flying over the atlantic ocean
> 
> please give me something to pass the time by dropping drabble requests in my [inbox](http://verybrave.tumblr.com/ask)!
> 
> and to everyone who's been reading: thank you so much for bearing with my first foray into the fandom :')


	5. kuroko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuroko + the balance

kise is unfairly good at many things: soccer, tennis, judo, imitating french accents, braiding hair, crying-- the list goes on ad nauseam and it's tiring to try and enumerate all the ways in which kise does not need basketball in his life.

"kurokocchi is so cool," kise says, and takes the shot.

kise whips around to turn his teeth on him. the ball hasn't gone in yet, but it will, because there are already swaths of midorima across kise's shoulders and on the bridge of kise's nose and it's inevitable.

the net swishes when kise isn't looking.

self-preservation means he has learned how to brace himself against the awe that thunders in like high tide, hold his breath and will himself steady, don't punch kise in the kidneys. routine.

"kise-kun is confused," he says, shuffling forward to retrieve the ball.

his ball and his street court, seven minutes from his house, where no one goes on early sunday mornings except himself. but he's not surprised kise is here (tenacity is one of kise's more dubious talents); he only wishes kise would leave before his lungs collapse under the pressure, and before he slices himself open on kise's sharp-glass sincerity.

"i'm not confused!" kise protests, and brings his hands up, expectant.

he holds onto the ball and waits for kise's mouth to falter into that frustrated frown tetsuya's come to count as payment for his patience. kise is not used to asking for things, he knows. people like kise never are, mindlessly secure in their own magnetism, confident that all things will come to them if they just be. 

kise tries for a smile again, wiggles his fingers, and he looks too carefree for someone who is clearly being denied. it's true kise whines about everything--a habit recently exacerbated by sharing a homeroom with murasakibara-- but kise is also insufferably resilient, which tetsuya cannot understand and which annoys tetsuya more than he can admit.

he sighs and passes the ball harder than he intends to, but kise doesn't flinch. kise immediately goes for a layup and tetsuya squints hard against the streaks of blue in the rays of sun.

"did you come all this way to make fun of me," he has to ask, after kise has snatched the ball back.

"of course not!" kise insists, rolling the ball up his arm and then onto the back of his hand so that it sits above the splay of his fingers. "it's my day off and i just want to play. you never play with me."

"i don't want to."

he's expecting kise to cry, to accuse him of being hateful and mean, but kise blinks at him with genuine curiosity and asks, "why not?"

routine: don't punch kise in the kidneys. it's not a dignified response to being pulled under, to drowning.

"i'm no match for you. you're better than me. is that what you want to hear?"

"of course i'm better," kise says without missing a beat, and tetsuya is struck with an anger so electric he surges forward against the tide to take the ball.

but kise passes the ball behind his back to his other hand and out of tetsuya's reach, without bothering to look down at him. kise frowns thoughtfully over the top of tetsuya’s head as he sets the ball spinning on his finger.

"you know," kise says, "i think kurokocchi is the one who is confused."

"i know you're better. everyone knows."

"that's not what i mean."

tetsuya reaches for the ball again but kise quicksteps back, falls into an all too familiar stance and goes for another three-pointer, all in one unbroken, liquid motion. tetsuya holds his breath against the renewed tide, because the arc is perfect.

the net swishes.

kise makes a gesture like pushing his hair out of his eyes, but tetsuya knows that kise is imitating the way midorima adjusts his glasses-- it’s all part of the sequence. kise is still studying them, sifting through all the human pieces to isolate the ones that make up a monster on the court, the ones he can take and use.

"you can't do that, right, kurokocchi?" kise chirps, coming into himself again, bright and sunny.

"no," tetsuya concedes, his voice almost inaudible over the thunderous, unrelenting pulse in his ears.

"but it doesn't matter, don't you think?"

"what?"

"i mean, it doesn't matter that you can't. we don't all need to be doing the same thing."

he fixes kise with a level stare. of course that's an easy, inconsequential thing for kise to say, kise who excels at everything, and who, if left unchecked, will render you obsolete. tetsuya doesn't miss haizaki, and honestly has never cared enough to fear for him, but he does fear for himself, and he fears the high tide that follows close and loyal on kise's heels.

"i want to win," tetsuya says. "how can i win if i can't even make a single basket?"

and then, because he's feeling too much like a different person, he amends quickly, "kise-kun just wants all the points to himself. how horrible."

"no!" kise cries, stamping his foot. "don't accuse me of such things! i'm only saying that kurokocchi can do some really amazing things that no one else can!"

when tetsuya doesn't respond, kise forges on, "if you don't believe me, then fine, but you have to at least believe akashicchi! he thinks you have lots of potential too!"

just to be contrary, he wants to say he doesn't actually care what akashi thinks, but he's not stupid, or suicidal. akashi will know of the transgression somehow, and tetsuya really does care; he has akashi to thank for his jersey after all.

"kurokocchi is great!" kise huffs, indignant over the protracted silence.

"how can you say that with a straight face," tetsuya says at last, "when you play on the same team as aomine-kun and everyone else."

kise pouts. "aominecchi and the rest of the team are also great. so?"

"what about haizaki-kun? isn't he great? he's not on the team anymore, but you couldn't beat him.”

tetsuya knows he's being cruel now, but kise just smiles too much, kise forgets his place too easily, and tetsuya, who can't move for the onslaught of awe and jealousy threatening to topple him, can't forgive kise for it.

but kise's laugh comes easy and light as usual, and edged with disdain. "shougo-kun is not worth anyone's time, yours or mine."

kise is always honest, and kise is rarely wrong when it comes to people, and tetsuya has seen kise assess and dismiss people with a single glance, but right now tetsuya wants kise to disassemble himself, turn that blistering honesty inwards to illuminate his own failures and vulnerabilities.

"you haven't beaten aomine-kun yet either," tetsuya counters softly, risking his self-imposed calm. he’s pushing it but he wants to demand what right kise has to such unshakeable self-assurance when he, like tetsuya, has never won even once.

"i don't understand your point. and if i didn't know better, i'd think kurokocchi was trying to make me feel bad about myself."

tetsuya is careful to keep his face blank as kise raises his chin to look down his nose at him-- but it's not arrogance, not even anger, but something else entirely that tetsuya can't place. the deliberate slant of kise's smile and the coolness in kise's tone make him suddenly wary.

"just because i haven't won yet doesn't mean i won't, and just because i admire someone doesn't mean i have to think less of myself. besides, doesn't it make sense to have rivals you admire? otherwise, why should i care? why waste so much effort on someone who’s not worth it?”

tetsuya glances towards where the ball had rolled to rest against the chain-link fence. he looks sharply back to kise.

"i'm good," says kise, and he shrugs like it's a fact he's long since bored of. “not as good as aominecchi and the others, i know-- compared to them i’m still just a beginner--but i'm catching up.”

tetsuya doesn't realize he had his hands clenched into fists until they start to uncurl at his sides. as blood warms the tips of his fingers again, it finally comes to him, the foundation of kise’s fearlessness and kise’s audacity, how kise can pick himself back up after each defeat and demand another game like it’s his due, inexhaustible.

how many times has tetsuya seen it, those moments when kise goes static for just a moment after each loss, when kise, doubled over and relearning how to breathe, defies even akashi commanding him to clean up and go home, ignores aomine telling him he’s still too much of a rookie. those moments on the court when kise is stone-quiet and subject to no one because they all simply cease to exist until kise decides it's their turn to speak again, and no sooner.

because even monsters like haizaki and aomine and akashi, all of teikou, must seem small and toothless to kise after kise's allowed that terrifying, unflinching honesty to wear his face and speak with his voice and smirk with his mouth.

"you're good too, we can all see it," kise says, and it feels like kise is reprimanding him. "but really, kurokocchi, you shouldn't need anyone else to tell you that."

there's nothing of midorima's blunt arrogance, aomine's grudging egotism, murasakibara's lazy condescension, or akashi's imperial judgment. there is only sincerity, incisive and ruthless and all kise's own.

and although tetsuya should be alarmed that kise is already discovering ways to slip into their skins and discard them just as easily, that kise uses teikou as aggressively as teikou uses him, tetsuya is instead relieved to find that kise can never truly be anyone but himself.

and kise has said repeatedly, no one could be like you, kurokocchi. kurokocchi, kise calls him, as if being mediocre and invisible were a skill to be coveted, but kise is always sincere, even if it baffles tetsuya. the thundering in his ears softens to a low rumble, and tetsuya takes a breath. he’s taught himself how to breathe despite the viscosity of the shadows he walks in and it’s not so different, he discovers, to breathe under this tide. it's not so different, and they both know it’s something kise will never have the chance to copy.

“i’m happy to remind you, though,” kise offers. “that you’re awesome.”

"kise-kun is also incredible," he says, because there really isn’t anything for him to argue, and because this is an apology.

it takes a moment but after the initial wide-eyed shock slides off, kise does not disappoint; tetsuya grimaces as kise sobs.

“i’m so happy,” kise wails. “kurokocchi finally acknowledges me!”

tetsuya jogs off the court to pick up the ball and returns to stand before kise, who is still wiping at his face with his sleeve.

"don't go easy on me," tetsuya says, deadpan and steady, dribbling the ball in place.

kise composes himself in the time it takes tetsuya to blink, and then kise grins--eyes flickering red under his lashes for a moment so fleeting testuya might have imagined it--and steals the ball before it comes up to meet tetsuya’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "be honest with yourself!"
> 
> kise is still a jackass BUT-- i think kise has the right idea, which is, when it comes to your own self-worth, you should answer to no one but yourself. that's my interpretation of kise's character anyway.
> 
> now go to your room kise you're grounded


	6. haizaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haizaki + the kise ryouta defense squad

kise pauses at a window to wave at the gaggle of girls calling to him from the track field. even after last week's defeat, after shougo ground kise's spine to dust and left him struggling to swallow his own heart, kise still hasn't learned his place, still can't go anywhere without spinning the world around to focus on him.

shougo hops up to sit on the windowsill two windows down from kise and leans into the noon sun.

"oh, ryou-ta-kun," he sings.

kise's head pokes out to gape at him. the initial look of confusion--and then irritation--on kise's face doesn't stay long, but shougo counts it as a victory anyway.

it's kise's move. after a beat, kise slouches to rest his elbow on the sill. there's a nonchalance that doesn't fool shougo, and shougo smirks, eager.

"that's new," kise calls over. "i didn't know we became so close."

"don't say such things, ryouta." shougo slaps a hand over his heart, angles his body further back, until he's almost parallel with the ground. "don't tell me you don't feel the same way."

kise blinks at him. then kise's mouth curves, slow. two girls on the track team catch this and inexplicably fall to their knees, and shougo almost snarls at them to get it together or scram.

"well. it's nice to know that haizaki-kun thinks so fondly of me," kise says, lashes low and voice lower.

the world goes cold despite the sun on his shoulders.

"wait, what." realization punches through him, and he has to grip the window frame to keep from toppling over. "oh god,  _no_ ," he roars, horrified. he tastes bile. "not a chance, you idiot! i'm going to crush you--"

there's a moment of defiant weightlessness before the impact. he is still trying to find an explanation for why he is suddenly flat on his back with his legs propped up against the outer wall of the school, trying to blink the stars out of the clear blue sky, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees an upside-down kise turn away from him, looking bored. shougo opens his mouth but all that comes out is a wheeze.

he hears a voice above him drawl, "don't steal my lines, stupid."

"murasakicchi, i need to copy your japanese homework!"

kise moves away from his window and out of sight. somewhere in the grass by his left ear, a grasshopper starts to play forlornly.

 

* * *

 

as if he's going to let this go.

"all right, blondie," he spits, cementing himself squarely in the doorway to the gym. "i don't want you strutting around with the idea that i somehow-- for whatever impossible reason-- i'd rather  _die_ \-- so you listen good--"

"it's ok, haizaki-kun, i understand," kise interrupts, holding up his hand, eyebrows drawn close in impatience. "there's no need to be ashamed; you're hardly the first, you know. now please move, i'm already late to practice."

he grabs kise by the collar and hauls him close. "you're not going anywhere until i pound you into a pulp!"

"i'll say this only once: leave the inappropriate innuendo off school grounds, shougo."

a chill stabs its way down his spine. he hears kise whining about stretching out his shirt, but only distantly. he releases kise to face akashi instead, who, in a gross miscarriage of justice, manages to look down his nose at shougo despite being so fucking short.

" _what_?"

"confess your feelings with decorum. ryouta's manager will book you a time. there are procedures in place for this sort of thing."

"what," shougo repeats. he's getting a little light-headed.

"shintarou will give you the number to call. come now, ryouta. you're late."

"akashicchi, i really can't tell if you're trying to help me or get me killed."

the double doors slam on shougo's foot with resounding finality.

 

* * *

 

in retrospect, waiting by the school gates for kise to get out of practice does nothing help his case and everything to hurt it. it just sends the wrong idea, especially with a flock of kise's groupies also hovering nearby. though they are probably hovering with less violent tendencies than shougo; there's redemption in that at least.

"haizaki."

"what the hell, do you assholes take shifts or something?"

midorima raises an eyebrow, but otherwise deems the question beneath his notice. one of these days, shougo's going to dunk his mossy green head into the giant fish tank in the main lobby of the school.

"the number for kise's manager--"

"i don't need it!"

there's a terse silence as midorima adjusts his glasses and frowns at shougo with the same disapproving air shougo's grandfather always oozes, like he can't help but despair of shougo's life choices and hair length and general state of existence. midorima would probably have his grandfather's wardrobe too-- knee-high socks with brown shorts and loafers, lots of argyle. there's a lacy parasol in midorima's hand but shougo decides he will give that a wide berth-- no amount of bullying fodder would be worth the excruciating explanation of celestial alignments in the face of an immutable god.

midorima says, "we have a very capable counselor on campus, you know."

"do you know that because the teachers keep sending you to her for being so fucking weird." something catches up to him. "wait, why."

"you should talk to someone about your... affliction." midorima suddenly looks nauseated, and he gestures vaguely with the parasol, as if this would somehow bring enlightenment to shougo instead of the urge to give midorima a killer wedgie.

shougo stares at him.

"kise," midorima finally concedes, sounding like his soul is being sucked out through his nose.

"no." shougo shoves away from the school gates, jabs a finger in midorima's face, growls, "whatever it is you're going to say, don't you dare say it. stop talking."

midorima thins his lips and looks for all the world like he wishes he could, indeed, stop. but then midorima seems to tap into some hidden reservoir of strength-- probably reserved for things like extra trips back to the grocery store to return unsatisfactory produce or whatever it is old people do in their spare time-- because he draws himself up to his full height (he's taller than shougo, damn it) and says:

"it's a bad idea to pursue this. gemini are notoriously hard to tie down, and let's be honest, you're hardly worth committing to."

"what," shougo hisses. at this point, the word is less a question and more an indication of outraged horror.

but midorima is on a mission. "you should know that gemini and scorpio tend to have extremely strained relationships. your love compatibility is tumultuous at best."

"why are you such a freak! can't a guy want to smash in another guy's face without all this horoscope bullshit about--" he glances around frantically. "-- _love compatibility_?"

his traitorous voice hits a high note he's never heard come from his own mouth before. his feet are already taking him backwards, away from midorima and his stupid lacy parasol.

his back collides solidly with something that eloquently goes  _oof_.

"please be more careful, haizaki-kun."

two thoughts run concurrently through shougo's head: how much did kise hear, and does his first instinct of whacking kise over the head with midorima's shitty parasol make him less of a man.

but kise seems to have moved on, oblivious to shougo's frantic reassessment of his masculinity.

"oh! was midorimacchi waiting to walk home together? sorry, but you'll have to go on without me!"

shougo finds himself being elbowed with impressive precision in all the soft, vulnerable parts of his anatomy as kise's hovering fanclub makes contact, brandishing cameras and gifts and glossy photobooks awaiting autographs. but before he can retaliate, kise cuts him off with a smile that shougo's limited vocabulary can only describe as  _wrong_.

"see you tomorrow, haizaki-kun." kise punctuates this with an airy flutter of his fingers.

so wrong.

he collects his jaw from the ground when he realizes midorima is staring at him. midorima leans in and whispers, with enough gravity to crush him, "he'll break your heart nanodayo."

shougo thinks that maybe the most terrifying thing about the whole ordeal is how midorima can deliver lines like that with a straight face.

 

* * *

 

the next morning he spots kise's infuriating blond head and white-blazered shoulders above the waves of students trying to beat the morning bell.

he drains the last of his ramune, swiped from the corner konbini on his way to school, and rattles the marble inside.

a small part of his mind--getting smaller all the time-- tells him that this is not a smart idea. probably. he wonders if kise's hair is insured by his agency. he amends that thought. wonders how  _much_  kise's hair is insured for. how much kise's agency pays their lawyers to settle cases like these. more than shougo's mom could ever hope to afford, that's for sure. wonders if a restraining order means he'd have to switch schools, and if any other schools would take him, with his record. his mom would have a heart attack once she hears.

but kise is so thick-headed, he'd be fine, right? and blood washes out. and it's just hair.

he never was able to get the marble out without smashing the bottle. he makes up his mind.

he flips the bottle up and catches it upside-down, by its neck. he winds his arm back, like he had seen the star pitcher of the baseball team do.

but something is off.

he brings his hand back and finds that someone had replaced the bottle with the latest issue of  _vivi_  magazine without him noticing. the cover, with cool, popsicle blue words, informs him that this issue will tell him all about "summer outfits guaranteed to make him fall for you!"

"what," he whispers into the wind.

 

* * *

 

"so what's this i hear about you wanting to bang kise."

"what," shougo sighs, feeling beleaguered. aomine's homeroom is nowhere near his. no one on the team has a homeroom near his. that's the only reason shougo had gone to homeroom. he thought he'd be safe here.

aomine picks his nose at him, unimpressed. "eh, no accounting for taste, i guess."

shougo puts his head in his hands.

"at least i'm not the one chucking basketballs at people's heads trying to get their attention," he mutters.

he thinks about the almost-incident with the ramune bottle this morning and decides it's probably best that aomine had already walked out and couldn't hear him.

 

* * *

 

"haizaki-kun's been looking so gloomy lately," kise says.

they run into each other in a rarely used stairwell during lunchtime, kise presumably trying to circumvent his fans and shougo trying to avoid another run-in with those deluded fools who seem to have made it their life goal to destroy him. shougo's pride, though battered, refuses to let him run screaming in the opposite direction when he sees kise.

"watch your mouth." he pauses. "ryouta," he adds with malice, because backing down is not an option.

"is it because i can't return your feelings."

"oh my god i'm going to kill you."

the lightbulb above them flickers and shougo finds himself watching kise's pupils dilate and constrict beneath his lashes.

kise hums in thought. "well, how about--"

"die," shougo says, preemptively.

"you shouldn't be so mean," kise scolds. takes another step up, closer. "shougo-kun."

kise cocks his head and smiles. the lightbulb flickers again, then goes out, but the stairwell doesn't seem any darker for it.

 _fuck_ , shougo thinks, feeling faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kise ryouta needs no protection
> 
> but it's nice to be doted on like this, eh?
> 
> (it's been so long i am so sorry i finally wrote this all in one go so quality is questionable)


	7. aomine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aomine + the last summer

“is aominecchi doing anything today? you should come if you aren't.”

he can’t remember the last time he’s seen kise out of uniform. he can’t remember the last time he’s seen kise outside of school or practice, period. magazine covers don’t count. he hasn’t spoken to kise all month, now that it’s summer break, and it’s been even longer since he’s called or messaged kise, since kise’s called or messaged him; kise’s name isn’t even top twenty in his phone history anymore.

maybe that’s why he puts the horikata mai mag back on the rack. that and he’s bored and out of allowance this week anyway.

“where are you going again?”

kise takes his elbow. “kanagawa,” he says. “pay attention more, aominecchi. let’s go.”

he lets kise drag him out into the shimmering summer heat, record high today. there’s a car waiting, and there’s a woman putting lipstick on in the driver’s seat. when she turns to them, he can see himself reflected in the round lenses of her sunglasses. her large black sunhat and sleek blonde hair make her look like an american movie star. daiki makes a tremendous effort not to let his eyes drop to her chest.

“are you bringing a friend, ryouta?”

“i ran into him in the store. aomine daiki. from the team, remember. it's all right if he comes, right?”

daiki unties his tongue enough to mumble, “nice to meet you.”

he remembers to bow, belatedly. she smiles kise’s smile. he swallows hard.

it’s stifling in the backseat even though the windows are rolled all the way down. his legs feel cramped too. he shifts, trying to negotiate leg room and unstick himself from the seat, and ends up bumping kise’s knee. kise splits the popsicle he bought and hands him half before leaning forward to whine, “neechan, we’re dying back here!”

“yes, yes,” she obliges, glancing at them in the rearview mirror as she turns on the air. “sorry there’s not much room back there, daiki-kun. ryouta complains about it all the time.”

“no, it’s fine,” he says. he stops squirming, embarrassed. “i’m used to it.”

“it won’t be a long drive. thank you for bearing with it.”

he sticks the popsicle in his mouth so he won't say something stupid to get himself slapped or thrown out of the car. the windows roll up, whirring softly.

once the noise from the street is cut off, he hears kise humming a tune he doesn't recognize. the popsicle is already melting all over kise's hand, but kise doesn't seem to notice. the cool air, once it reaches them, feels good.

 

* * *

 

 _did you know_   _kise's_ _going to_   _kaijou_ _?_

 _who do you think you’re talking to,_   _dai_ _-chan? but why the sudden interest?_

_i’m in_ _kanagawa_

_what???_

he flips his phone shut when the door to the backseat opens and kise folds himself back in, jostling daiki out of the way of the flow of the air conditioning. they shove each other back and forth, until kise’s sister slides into the driver’s seat and turns the a/c knob up to high. daiki’s eyes are dry and prickly and he can’t help rubbing at them.

“it’s so hot!” kise cries. he rests his cheek on the shoulder of the seat in front of him and looks to daiki. “sorry for the wait, aominecchi. there was so much paperwork and neechan had a bunch of questions for the coach.”

“if we don't explain to them your modeling schedule now, it'll only cause more problems later, ryouta.”

“they won’t care what i do, as long as i win for them.”

she doesn’t say anything to that, but daiki catches the frown on her perfect, red mouth.

“can we go to the beach now?” kise hedges.

kise’s sister sighs, twisting her long hair expertly into a bun. “lunch first, before we all die of heat exhaustion. what would you like to eat, daiki-kun?”

he tears his eyes away from her bare, white neck and clears his throat. “anything’s fine. i'm just hungry.”

“cold soba,” kise decides. “absolutely has to be cold soba.”

“what a spoiled brat,” she chides gently, easing out of their parking spot. daiki notices her nails are painted the same red as her lips, vivid against the black leather of the wheel.

 _don’t be angry._ _i’ll_ _bring you back a present_ , he taps into his phone while kise plays around with the radio. kaijou high shrinks behind them and is almost out of sight by the time kise finally settles on an american pop station. his sister switches it to enka.

daiki and kise groan in unison.

 

* * *

 

kise's sister drops them off by the coast before leaving for the shopping district. she fits a baseball cap onto kise’s head and warns daiki not to let her baby brother get them into too much trouble. kise squawks indignantly and pushes her to go, and daiki can't help but watch the sway of her hips and the flounce of her skirt as she walks away from them. her legs are long; she's almost as tall as they are.

“don’t even think about it, aominecchi!”

“shut up, kisee,” he growls, annoyed at being caught out. “why’d you drag me with you anyway.”

“you’re welcome,” kise huffs, adjusting his cap and sunglasses.

the beach is packed with bodies but they end up racing barefoot over the blistering hot sand anyway. daiki thinks he destroyed a sandcastle or two in his mad dash to the water, and he dropped a shoe along the way, but he beats kise by a few seconds and it’s worth it. he feels his heartbeat drumming and drumming and drumming, feels the crash of waves reverberate in his chest.

kise demands a rematch, but daiki wants to stay by the water where it’s cool.

“let’s catch crabs,” he says, splashing his way over to the rockier segment of the shoreline. he motions for kise to follow. kise makes a face but he does.

kise won’t clamber over the rocks with him though, opting to stand at a safe distance with his hands on his hips and a petulant expression on his shaded face. when daiki shows him the tiny crab in his cupped palms, kise just takes another few steps back, shuddering.

“you’re such a wimp,” daiki crows, pinching one of the crab’s legs and dangling it in front of kise. “you’re like a million times bigger than it is. look.”

kise is not placated and daiki backs off before kise gets it in his head to punch him. it feels weird to be teasing kise like this again after all they've grown and all the distance daiki’s laid between them, and daiki feels self-conscious suddenly.

“whatever,” he says, dropping the crab into the plastic bucket of a child who is also hunting nearby. “what else is there to do around here?”

they argue about which direction to go in and daiki resolves it by walking off his way. they wander for a bit, daiki with his lone shoe tucked under his arm and lamenting he didn’t wear flip flops like kise. they goad each other into speed-eating shaved ice and then want to bury their heads in the sand to offset the brain freeze. they find a beach volleyball game to crash, though daiki ends up on a team of disgruntled boys after all the girls flock to kise’s side. it turns out daiki is good at spiking the ball but his serves keep hitting the other boys in the back of the head. kise laughs every time and asks if that’s a habit of his. in the end, kise destroys them all.

“i was the star of the teikou volleyball team, you know.” kise beams at him, after. it was best out of five games and kise’s team took the first three in rapid succession. daiki saw one of the girls slip a piece of paper in kise’s pocket when they were saying their goodbyes. she was slim and petite, barely up to kise's shoulder, but she had a mean overhand serve, which kise had replicated to rain terror down on the opposing side.

the animosity radiating from daiki’s team would have choked a lesser person, but kise is either used to it or oblivious.

“yeah, for about two weeks, i heard,” daiki gripes, though he’s not really angry. he feels loose-limbed and good, even though there’s sand in his underwear. the beach is emptying now that the sun is going down, and the breeze is welcome. “that shouldn’t even count.”

"it was boring, so i quit. oh, i found it.” kise unearths daiki’s lost shoe and shakes out the sand before tossing it over to him.

he ties the reunited pair together by the shoelaces. he’s wearing kise’s baseball cap, borrowed to make up for his lack of sunglasses, and he takes it off to tap the sand out of it too. “hey, are you going to call that girl?”

kise takes a moment to remember whom he's talking about. “i don’t think so.”

“why not?”

kise shrugs. “i’ll be too busy. i got a new contract with the agency, now that i’m older.”

that's news to daiki too.

“you could ask for time off now and then,” he says, but doesn’t push it further. “you didn’t tell me you were scouted by kaijou.”

“if you wanted to know, momoicchi would have told you.”

"did you ask her where i'm going?"

“of course."

daiki should have something to say to that, something to show he's not a self-centered jackass, but he doesn’t because he is. but kise doesn’t stop walking and doesn't turn to him for a response. daiki slings his shoes over his shoulder and follows after him, lazy and slow.

“well, i guess it doesn’t matter to aominecchi, since none of us are a match for you anyway.”

"i guess not," he admits, no reason to pretend otherwise.

but just then, daiki realizes he hasn’t thought about basketball all day, hasn’t felt the usual lethargy in his bones and behind his eyes, or imagined it dripping viscous from his limbs. which is strange, considering nearly every moment he’s ever spent with kise prior to this was on a basketball court playing at war.

“we didn't play basketball today," he says to kise's back.

"you can’t play at the beach.” kise doesn't turn around. “even aominecchi must know that.”

he can tell when kise is being evasive, but he lets it go. he doesn’t really want to talk about it either.

“i’m thinking of getting my ears pierced,” kise offers instead. “what does aominecchi think?”

“what does it matter what i think, model-san will do as model-san wishes.”

“would you do it?”

“it would look weird on me.”

“nah, aominecchi would just look even cooler.”

“embarrassing,” he grumbles half-heartedly. he's surprised to find this easy and familiar. like basketball, but without the gravity. he’s forgotten that there was this too.

he catches up and throws an arm around kise’s neck. they’re both sticky with sea salt and sweat. “so, your sister.”

“impossible, even if it’s aominecchi. she’s out of your league.”

“yeah?”

“not even if aominecchi were the last man on earth.”

“that’s harsh, kise…”

“no, it’s honest. no one is good enough for neechan.”

"don't you have another one?"

"neesan is in london."

"doing what?"

"open a magazine sometime, aominecchi. and not the gravure ones."

offended, he sets about regaling kise with all the considerable merits and assets of horikata mai-chan. kise lets him talk, though daiki suspects kise is being patronizing.

on the way back to tokyo, traffic is nearly bumper to bumper with day trippers returning home, but it’s cool enough that they don’t have to turn on the air. the wind keeps whipping kise’s hair into his eyes, but daiki is fine. he doesn't know how many shopping bags are stuffed into the trunk, but in kise's lap are five boxes of dorayaki with the great wave off kanagawa stamped on them, souvenirs for the team back home.

in daiki's pocket is a seashell for satsuki, the biggest, smoothest one they could find. he surreptitiously brushes sand from the seat. sitting between him and kise is a thick blue folder embossed with the words kaijou and in a paper bag in the passenger’s seat is kaijou’s uniform. he wonders briefly if he and kise are still the same size, but probably not. daiki’s put on a few kilos in his growth spurt.

“oi, kise. is basketball boring now too?”

kise has one hand to his head to hold his hair back from his face. the tip of his nose and the ridge of his cheeks are pink from too much sun. his sunglasses are hooked on the collar of his shirt, but the light is falling on their backs and daiki can’t see his reflection in the lenses.

“not yet,” kise says. “there’s still aominecchi to beat, after all.”

“you’re a thousand years too early, rookie.” daiki means for it to be light and teasing, but instead it comes out sounding tired and bitter and he regrets bringing it up again. he can't seem to help himself.

“don’t worry, i won’t make you wait a thousand,” kise promises blithely.

daiki tries to shrug off the resurgent annoyance. he should stop hoping for kise to be good enough. it’s unfair of him. he feels dark and heavy again, difficult to resettle after a whole day running weightless and untethered to impossible expectation. just the sun and ocean and sand between his toes and kise’s prattle and getting trounced in a game of volleyball, the heaviness he’s been carrying all summer mysteriously absent from his shoulders since the moment kise snagged his elbow at the magazine rack. but now the day is ending, they're going home, and under the renewed crush of frustration, which comes back no matter what he does, it’s hard not to hold kise--or satsuki, or tetsu, anyone else--responsible for his unhappiness.

but kise's sister asks, “did daiki-kun have fun today?”

“aominecchi totally sucks at volleyball,” kise answers for him readily. “never pick him for your team. he'll give you a concussion."

he punches kise’s arm. kise yelps and kicks at daiki’s ankles, his hands occupied by the dorayaki. he holds kise in a headlock until kise cries for forgiveness, and then punches kise’s arm once more, for good measure.

“seems like it was a good day.” kise’s sister sounds fond. he sees her smile at him in the rearview mirror; he thinks how dangerous their family must be with all the siblings together.

there’s sand underneath daiki's fingernails and in his hair and there's probably sunburn on the back of his neck and scrapes on his elbows from diving for an unfamiliar ball. there’s salt in the cracks of his lips and the soles of his feet are worn smooth and soft, now too warm in his shoes. these are good things he shouldn't forget.

it was a long time before kise let him think about basketball today, a long time before daiki remembered distance.

he turns to kise, who is rubbing his arm sullenly. “i want to see when you get your ears pierced. i bet you’re going to cry like a baby.”

“whoa. too horrible. no way i’m letting you come along now.”

“consider it your birthday present to me. you haven’t forgotten my birthday, have you?”

kise rolls his eyes.

daiki’s phone buzzes and rattles against satsuki’s seashell in his pocket. he fishes it out and blows the sand from it.

_how was kanagawa? kaijou’s close to the coast, right? it’ll be nice to visit ki-chan there some time._

he doesn't think too hard about it.

_i need to pay kise back in beach volleyball._

satsuki takes much longer than usual to reply, but her answer, when it comes, makes daiki smile.  _i’ll get you practice tapes from the volleyball team. you can do it, dai-chan!_

_yeah. thanks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure kise deserves 14k+ words of fic but here it is. thank you all so much for reading! it's been wild
> 
> (comments and [especially] concrit always immensely appreciated!)


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